sk.cujo-第15部分

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kness。　They　were　burying　the　Sharp　Cereal　Professor　in　secret；　and　that　was　wrong。
'Wrong；'　he　muttered　aloud。
Sure　it　was。　Because　if　they　buried　him　in　the　dead　of　night；　he　could　never　say　what　he　had　to　say：　that　he　was　sorry。
He　took　his　Pentel　pen　from　his　inner　coat　pocket；　took　a　napkin　from　the　holder；　and　wrote　swiftly　across　it：
The　Sharp　Cereal　Professor　needs　to　apologize。
He　looked　at　it。　The　letters　were　getting　larger；　fuzzing　as　the　ink　sank　into　the　napkin。　Below　that　first　sentence　he　added：
Decent　burial。
And　below　that：
DAYLIGHT　burial。
He　still　wasn't　sure　what　it　meant；　it　was　more　metaphor　than　sense；　but　that　was　how　his　best　ideas　came　to　him。　And　there　was　something　there。　He　felt　sure　of　it。
Cujo　lay　on　the　floor　of　the　garage；　in　semi…gloom。　It　was　hot　in　here　but　it　was　even　worse　outside　。　。　。　and　the　daylight　outside　was　too　bright。　It　never　had　been　before；　in　fact；　he　had　never　even　really　noticed　the　quality　of　the　light　before。　But　he　was　noticing　now。　Cujo's　head　hurt。　His　muscles　hurt。　The　bright　light　made　his　eyes　hurt。　He　was　hot。　And　his　muzzle　still　ached　where　he　had　been　scratched。
Ached　and　festered。
THE　MAN　was　gone　somewhere。　Not　long　after　he　left；　THE　Boy　and　THE　WOMAN　had　gone　somewhere；　leaving　him　alone。　THE　Boy　had　put　a　big　dish　of　food　out　for　Cujo；　and　Cujo　had　eaten　a　little　bit。　The　food　made　him　feel　worse　instead　of　better；　and　he　left　the　rest　of　it　alone。
Now　there　was　the　growl　of　a　truck　turning　into　the　driveway。　Cujo　got　up　and　went　to　the　barn　door；　knowing　already　it　was　a　stranger。　He　knew　the　sound　of　both　THE　MAN's　truck　and　the　family　car。　He　stood　in　the　doorway；　head　poking　out　into　the　bright　glare　that　hurt　his　eyes。　The　truck　backed　up　the　driveway　and　then　stopped。　Two　men　got　down　from　the　cab　and　came　around　to　the　back。　One　of　them　ran　up　the　truck's　sliding　back　door。　The　rattling；　banging　noise　hurt　Cujo's　ears。　He　whined　and　retreated　back　into　the　forting　gloom。
The　truck　was　from　Portland　Machine。　Three　hours　ago；　Charity　Camber　and　her　still…dazzled　son　had　gone　into　Portland　Machine's　main　office　on　Brighton　Avenue　and　she　had　written　a　personal　check　for　a　new　Jorgen　chainfall　wholesale　had　turned　out　to　be　exactly　1；241。71；　tax　included。　Before　going　to　Portland　Machine　she　had　gone　into　the　State　Liquor　Store　on　Congress　Street　to　fill　out　a　lottery　claim　form。　Brett；　forbidden　absolutely　to　e　inside　with　her；　stood　on　the　sidewalk　with　his　hands　in　his　pockets。
The　clerk　told　Charity　she　would　get　a　Lottery　mission　cheek　in　the　mail。　How　long？　Two　weeks　at　the　very　outside。　It　would　e　minus　a　deduction　of　roughly　eight　hundred　dollars　for　taxes。　This　sum　was　based　on　her　declaration　of　Joe's　yearly　ine。
The　deduction　for　taxes　before　the　fact　did　not　anger　Charity　at　all。　Up　until　the　moment　when　the　clerk　had　checked　her　number　against　his　sheet；　she　had　been　holding　her　breath；　still　unable　to　believe　this　had　really　happened　to　her。　Then　the　clerk　had　nodded；　congratulated　her。　None　of　that　mattered。　What　mattered　was　that　now　she　could　breathe　again；　and　the　ticket　was　no　longer　her　responsibility。　It　had　returned　to　the　bowels　of　the　Lottery　mission。　Her　Check　Would　Be　in　the　Mail　…　wonderful；　mystical；　talismanic　phrase。
And　still　she　felt　a　small　pang　as　she　watched　the　dog…eared　ticket；　limp　with　her　own　nervous　perspiration；　dipped　to　the　form　she　had　filled　out　and　then　stored　away。　Lady　Luck　had　singled　her　out。　For　the　first　time　in　her　life'　maybe　for　the　only　time；　that　heavy　muslin　drape　of　the　everyday　had　been　twitched　a　little；　showing　her　a　bright　and　shining　world　beyond。　She　was　a　practical　woman；　and　in　her　heart　she　knew　that　she　hated　her　husband　more　than　a　little；　and　feared　him　more　than　a　little；　but　that　they　would　grow　old　together；　and　he　would　die；　leaving　her　with　his　debts　and　…　this　she　would　not　admit　for　sure　even　in　her　secret　heart；　but　now　she　feared　it！　…　perhaps　with　his　spoilt　son。
If　her　name　had　been　plucked　from　the　big　drum　in　the　twice…yearly　Super　Drawing；　if　she　had　won　ten　times　the　five　thousand　dollars　she　had　won；　she　might　have　entertained　…notions　of　pushing　aside　that　dull　muslin　curtain；　taking　her　son　by　the　hand；　and　leading　them　both　out　into　whatever　was　beyond　Town　Road　No。　3　and　Camber's　Garage；　Foreign　Cars　Our　Specialty；　and　Castle　Rock。　She　might　have　taken　Brett　to　Connecticut　with　the　express　purpose　of　asking　her　sister　how　much　a　small　apartment　in　Stratford　would　cost。
But　it　had　only　been　a　twitch　of　the　curtain。　That　was　all。　She　had　seen　Lady　Luck　for　a　bare；　brief　moment；　as　wonderful；　puzzling；　and　inexplicable　as　a　bright　fairy　dancing　under　mushrooms　in　the　dewy　light　of　dawn　。。。　seen　once；　never　again。　So　she　felt　a　pang　when　the　ticket　disappeared　from　her　view；　even　though　it　had　robbed　her　sleep。　She　understood　that　she　would　buy　a　lottery　ticket　a　week　for　the　rest　of　her　life　and　never　win　more　than　two　dollars　all　at　once。
Never　mind。　You　don't　count　teeth　in　a　gifthorse。　Not　if　you　were　smart。
They　went　out　to　Portland　Machine　and　she　had　written　the　check；　reminding　herself　to　stop　at　the　bank　on　their　way　home　and　transfer　enough　money　from　savings　to　checking　so　that　the　check　wouldn't　bounce。　She　and　Joe　had　a　little　over　four　thousand　dollars　in　their　savings　account　after　fifteen　years。　just　about　enough　to　cover　three　quarters　of　；their　outstanding　debts；　if　you　excluded　the　mortgage　on　the　farm。　She　had　no　right　to　exclude　that；　of　course；　but　she　always　did。　She　could　not　bring　herself　to　think　about　the　mortgage　except　payment　by　payment。　But　they　would　dent　the　savings　all　they　wanted　to　now；　and　then　deposit　the　Lottery　mission　check　in　that　account　when　it　came。　AU　they　would　be　losing　was　two　weeks'　interest。
The　man　from　Portland　Machine；　Lewis　Belasco；　said　he　would　have　the　chainfall　machine　delivered　that　very　afternoon；　and　he　was　as　good　as　his　word。
Joe　Magruder　and　Ronnie　DuBay　got　the　chainfall　on　the　truck's　pneumatic　Step…Loader；　and　it　whooshed　gently　down　to　the　dirt　driveway　on　a　sigh　of　air。
'Pretty　big　order　for　ole　Joe　Camber；'　Ronnie　said。
Magruder　nodded。　'Put　it　in　the　barn；　his　wife　said。　That's　his　garage。　Better　get　a　good　hold；　Ronnie。　This　is　a　heavy　whore。'
Joe　Magruder　got　his　hold；　Ronnie　got　his；　and；　puffing　and　grunting；　the　two　of　them　half　walked　it；　half　carried　it　into　the　barn。
'Let's　set　it　down　a　minute；'　Ronnie　managed。　'I　can't　see　where　the　hell　I'm　goin。　Let's　get　used　to　the　dark　before　we　go　ass　over　cowcatcher。'
They　set　the　chainfall　down　with　a　thump。　After　the　bright　afternoon　glare　outside；　Joe　was　mostly　blinded。　He　could　only　make　out　the　vague　shapes　of　things　…　a　car　up　on　jacks；　a　workbench；　a　sense　of　beams　going　up　to　a　loft。
'This　thing　ought　…'　Ronnie　began；　and　then　stopped　abruptly。
in　out　of　the　darkness　from　beyond　the　front　end　of　the　jacked…up　car　was　a　low；　guttural　growling。　Ronnie　felt　the　sweat　he　had　worked　up　suddenly　turn　clammy。
hairs　on　the　back　of　his　neck　stirred。
'Holy　crow；　you　hear　that？'　Magruder　whispered。　Ronnie　could　see　Joe　now。　Joe's　eyes　were　big　and　scared…looking。
'I　hear　it。'
It　was　a　sound　as　low　as　a　powerful　outboard　engine　idling。　Ronnie　knew　it　took　a　big　dog　to　make　a　sound　like　that。　And　when　a　big　dog　did；　it　more　often　than　not　meant　business。　He　hadn't　seen　a　BEWARE　OF　DOG　sign　when　they　drove　up；　but　sometimes　these　bumpkins　from　the　boonies　didn't　bother　with　one。　He　knew　one　thing。　He　hoped　to　God　that　the　dog　making　that　sound　was　chained　up。
'Joe？　You　ever　been　out　here　before？'
'Once。　It's　a　Saint　Bernard。　Big　as　a　fucking　house。　He　didn't　do　that　before。'　Joe　gulped。　Ronnie　heard　something　in　his　throat　click。　'Oh；　God。　Lookit　there；　Ronnie。'
Ronnie's　eyes　had　e　partway　to　adjusting；　and　his　half…sight　lent　what　he　was　seeing　a　spectral；　almost　supernatural　cast。　He　knew　you　never　showed　a　mean　dog　your　fear　…　they　could　smell　it　ing　off　you　…　but　he　began　to　shudder　helplessly　anyway。　He　couldn't　help　it。
The　dog　was　a　monster。　It　was　standing　deep　in　the　barn；　beyond　the　jacked…up　car。　It　was　a　Saint　Bernard　for　sure；　there　was　no　mistaking　the　heavy　coat；　tawny　even　in　the　shadows；　the　breadth　of　shoulder。　Its　head　was　down。　Its　eyes　glared　at　them　with　steady；　sunken　animosity。
It　wasn't　on　a　chain。
'Back　up　slow；'　Joe　said。　'Don't　run；　for　Christ's　sake。'
They　began　to　back　up；　and　as　they　did；　the　dog　began　to　walk　slowly　forward。　It　was　a　stiff　walk；　not　really　a　walk　at　all；　Ronnie　thought。　It　was　a　stalk。　That　dog　wasn't　fucking　around。　Its　engine　was　running　and　it　was　ready　to　go。　Its　head　remained　low。　That　growl　never　changed　pitch。　It　took　a　step　forward　for　every　step　they　took　back。
For　Joe　Magruder　the　worst　moment　came　when　they　backed　into　the　bright　sunlight　again。　It　dazzled　him；　blinded　him。　He　could　no　longer　see　the　dog。　If　it　came　for　him　now　
Reaching　behind　him；　he　felt　the　side　of　the　truck。　That　was　enough　to　break　his　nerve。　He　bolted　for　the　cab。
On　the　other　side；　Ronnie　DuBay　did　the　same。　He　reached　the　passenger　door　and　fumbled　at　the　latch　for　an　endless　moment。　He　clawed　at　it。　He　could　still　hear　that　low　growling；　so　much　like　an　idling　Evinrude　80　hp　motor。　The　door　wouldn't　open。　He　waited　for　the　dog　to　pull　a　chunk　of　his　ass　off。　At　last　his　thumb　found　the　button；　the　door　opened；　and　he　scrambled　into　the　cab；　panting。
He　looked　in　the　rearview　mirror　bolted　outside　his　window　and　saw　the　dog　standing　in　the　open　barn　door；　motionless。　He　looked　over　at　Joe；　who　was　sitting　behind　the　wheel　and　grinning　at　him　sheepishly。　Ronnie　offered　his　own　shaky　grin　in　return。
'Just　a　dog；'　Ronnie　said。
'Yeah。　Bark's　worse'n　his　bite。'
'Right。　Let's　go　back　in　there　and　screw　around　with　that　chainfall　some　more。'
'Fuck　you；'　Joe　said。
'And　the　horse　you　rode　in　on。'
They　laughed　together。　Ronnie　passed　him　a　smoke。
'What　do　you　say　we　get　going？'
'I'm　your　guy；'　Joe　said；　and　started　the　truck。
Halfway　back　to　Portland；　Ronnie　said；　almost　to　himself：　'That　dog's　going　bad。'
Joe　was　driving　with　his　elbow　cocked　out　the　window。　He　glanced　over　at　Ronnie。　'I　was　scared；　and　I　don't　mind　saying　so。　One　of　those　little　dogs　gives　me　shit　in　a　situation　like　tha